Not all those who wander are lost.

Tag Archives: TWE12LVE

Pocket Universes all have this feel about them, like they’ve been stamped onto a sheet of paper about a dozen times, only nobody’s bothered to re-ink the stamp. You spend as much time as I have in this business, you get to know them the second you step in to one.

Now, granted, not all pocket universes are bad. Some of them are perfectly decent club and shopping districts. Some of them are decent hideouts. In fact, I’ve even been to one or two pocket universes I actually liked. But the fact is, when you get hired to do a job in a pocket universe, you’re doing something illegal (almost always), or you’re doing something somebody doesn’t want somebody more important than they are to know about (always always).

One thing I can guarantee: if you land in a pocket universe that has as its portal a pair of Big, Impressive Elfin Doors and you’re not then in Elf Land, it’s not one of the good ones.

One thing I can guarantee: if you land in a pocket universe that has as its portal a pair of Big, Impressive Elfin Doors and you’re not then in Elf Land, it’s not one of the good ones. Just a bit of wisdom from your old buddy TAC. Because damn. This pocket universe was really not one of the good ones. I could tell it the moment I stepped through the Massive Elfin Doors.

And whether you’re in a good pocket universe or a bad one, it always takes a moment or two to get your bearings.

And whether you’re in a good pocket universe or a bad one, it always takes a moment or two to get your bearings, but that’s true of all portal travel. Worst portal sickness I ever had was on a trip to Manchester, I kid you not.

Anyway, the fixer had set me up with a place to stay, which was a blessing, since the whole PU (I love that abbreviation) seemed to be made up of one street of shops and a lonely little city park, bordered by forest on one side and God Knows What on the other.

As luck would have it, it was upstairs from an art studio. Or maybe it was a gallery. I get those two mixed up.

As luck would have it, it was upstairs from an art studio. Or maybe it was a gallery. I get those two mixed up. Never gave a fuck about art anyway. I put my shit away and started to settle in for the night, but since I was meant to report for work in the morning, I figured I’d take a look around, see what there was to see.

As it turned out, there wasn’t a hell of a lot to see. Every place except the art studio/gallery/whatever was locked up tight, even the address I was meant to report to the next morning. Come to think of it, the clerk at the art studio/gallery/whatever hadn’t been there when I’d come back downstairs, either.

Great. I’m in a two-bit pocket universe with only one street, and the only unlocked building is a fucking art studio. Gallery. Whatever.

The park was a disappointment, too.

The park was a disappointment, too. Not even a fucking bench. Just a lit up tree with lights all in it (because it’s never too early for Christmas in Pocket Universe Land), a big clock, and some weird statue of a girl apparently losing a battle with a dandelion. Awesome. I went back to my special room, probably the only living inhabitant of the whole universe, such as it was, and I just meditated until I fell asleep. Because damn. The least they could have done was bought me dinner, you know?

Fucking bright sunlight woke me the next morning. At least there was a shower, and since I was the only person in the universe, plenty of hot water, booyah. And when I got out of the shower, I noticed somebody had left a styrofoam cup of coffee (really? do they even make styrofoam in pocket universes?) and a shabby-looking croissant on the table in my room. Delish.

They told me I’d meet my contact in the coffee shop.

They told me I’d meet my contact in the coffee shop. Luckily, it wasn’t shut tight in the morning: I hoped the coffee would at least be better than that swill I’d swallowed with the croissant (because fuck knows when I’d get another meal, you know?).

It did not take me long to realise this was not the sort of coffee house I’d been thinking of.

It didn’t take me long to realise this wasn’t the sort of coffee house I’d been thinking of. For fuck’s sake, the whole place looked like some teenager’s dream of what an Amsterdam coffeehouse looked like, except of course the teenager’s from somewhere in Ohio….

Oh, hell no. I turned to walk out.

Oh, hell, no. I turned to walk out. Figured I’d ring my fixer as soon as I could get a signal and let him know there was no way there could be any good work in a place like this.

“Tacey! Wait!” I stopped dead. Nobody’d called me that in years. And the voice was familiar. Jesus fuck.

“Owen?” I stared at the fellow who’d materialised in front of me.

“Owen?” I stared at the fellow who’d materialised in front of me. “What the fuck do you want?”

Look, I know I talk a lot about hating my job. And maybe it’s true, or maybe it’s not, or maybe I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I weren’t the Queen.

But the bottom line is, when I write here, I’m not going to tell you about the day-to-day operation of My Kingdom. You know why? Because it’s boring as fuck. Not that fucking is boring. But you know what I mean. Right?

I like to be a tourist. I like to go to cool places. Sometimes I am going on an errand for myself, and sometimes, I’m just going someplace different, in disguise, where nobody knows me, looking around at the scenery, and taking selfies. I am, after all, a woman of my time.

So today, I got all dressed up in my favourite new gown, and I went exploring.

So today, I got all dressed up in my favourite new gown, and I went exploring. I discovered this amazing place called Saer’s Secret Garden. It was, I won’t lie to you, a lot like the lighter side of Faerie, which I’m not seeing all that much these days, and to tell you the truth, I was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer lightness of it all. I mean, seriously. Gorgeous pink mushrooms everywhere, grazing unicorns—this place had it all!

And nobody, nobody, could argue with this gown.

And nobody, nobody, could argue with this gown. It’s from Silvan Moon Designs, and I got it at that wonderful faire that comes around every so often, the Fantasy Gacha Carnival. It’s so much fun to play the games and hope you win the best thing ever, and (at least for now), I think this gown is the best thing ever. Silvan Moon always gives their gowns amazing names: this one is called Evangeline Windlace. I even love the little hat, and let me tell you, I’m not the biggest hat wearer in Faerie. But of course I was incognito today, so no crown! Which meant I had room for a hat! Not that I’m a fashionista or anything, but even I can tell you: you just don’t wear a crown and a hat at the same time! I got the necklace at the same place; it’s by Aisling, who’ve outdone themselves with a beautiful set of jewels called Tashania.

But hey! Enough about me: let’s explore the Secret Garden.

But hey! Enough about me: let’s explore the Secret Garden.

Everywhere I turned, there were new things to discover. Here, I found the most amazing twisty roses ever; they were sort of a cross between roses and candles, and their thorny stems were so dark and twisty. I just wanted to reach out and do a little blood magic… but then I remembered I was in Happy Shiny Light Faerie world (which just made me smirk, honestly), and I refrained. I really wanted to get to know those thorns, though.

Up ahead, through a blur of leaves and beneath an arch of trees, tiny frog fae danced.

Up ahead, through a blur of leaves and beneath an arch of trees, tiny frog fae danced. And this butterfly, so much bigger than you’d imagine—bigger than my head!—just hovered there, as if she/he (Are there girl butterflies and boy butterflies? I should know that.) were as entranced by the glowing dancers as I was. All the paths were scattered with light, like this one.

It was odd, in a place that seemed timeless, to discover a sundial.

It was odd, in a place that seemed timeless, to discover a sundial. Of course, when I looked at the way light and shadow acted (or rather, didn’t act) in the place, I realised it was permanently set at one in the afternoon. Which made me think of the clocks striking thirteen. Which seemed even more out of place than the sundial itself. But I digress.

Sometimes, I think a Faerie has to visit other places. And I know I do a lot of that, but see above where I revealed how incredibly boring being Queen is, unless you’re into intrigue and every little scandal. Which I’m not. No, really; I’m not. Stop laughing.

Toward the end of my visit, I was so captivated by the place that I forgot to take a lot more photographs. And of course they’ll deteriorate quickly in the Wylds: that’s why I have to pop over to someplace like Nu Jyorck or White Owl to post these blog entries: none of my photographs would ever survive if I just printed them and tried to take them back to my own Realm, which has been over blessed by the Anti-Technology Goddess, who shall remain nameless, but whose initials might be Faermorn Violet….

What a universe. What a multiverse. So many wondrous things to see.

What a universe. What a multiverse. So many wondrous things to see. I think our worlds are so small, when you get right down to it. But when you consider all the worlds, all the spirits, all the dancing, wise lights that make up the stars of our universe and light the paths to every separate realm, well. Then, you have more wonder than can be contained in a single place. More miracles than can occur on one plane. Maybe that’s why we have so many.